"Stop uttering nonsense," Asli snapped, cutting through the Guardian's cryptic words like a blade through fog. He dismissed them as the delusions of a dying relic, the kind of madness meant to unsettle, not warn.
And then—without hesitation—he moved.
A blur of motion, shadow, and steel. His assault resumed with the same unyielding rhythm, but something in the air had shifted. The Guardian's voice, ancient and terrible, lingered like the echo of a prophecy half-remembered. It clung to the corners of thought, unsettling and unfinished.
They were fighting harder now.
Pushing back with everything they had.
And still—losing ground.
Not in steps or strikes. But in breath. In resolve. In time.
Far above, in the clean, sterile halls of Nexus Control, the announcers stood frozen. Their faces blurred by security enchantments, their voices strained as they spoke to an audience that couldn't see the fear behind the curtain.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm," one of them said, too brightly.
"There's no need to panic. Our contestants are highly capable—well-trained and well-equipped."
Another flicked through a glowing screen of data. Live vitals. Aether readings. Resonance spikes off the charts.
"See?" the voice continued, wavering. "They've handled worse. Just a few unexpected variables. That's all."
The crowd behind the screen had started to murmur. Some shifted in their seats. Others were already on their feet.
The second announcer was staring at a readout crystal, lips tight.
"Are they… handling it?" he muttered into his mic, off-broadcast.
The feed flickered.
But outside the broadcast frame, alarms had begun to flash.
Because something was wrong.
And no one wanted to say it aloud.
The broadcast screens trembled as static crackled faintly across their borders, the Rift pulsing in the background like a heartbeat made visible.
Inside the grand Nexus Stadium, the audience had begun to stir—first murmurs, then unrest. Parents clutched their children. Sponsors whispered i. Even the highest balconies—where only the elite sat—had fallen into hushed tension.
And behind the illusion of control, the announcers stood frozen beneath the lens of a live broadcast.
One forced a smile, voice trembling just beneath the polished gloss of charisma. "Well now! Just a bit of interference, folks. Nothing to be concerned about. Our contestants are… still holding strong."
His co-host's fingers were white against the control crystal in his hand.
Our contestants are strong enough to survive. Really, this is just part of the Trial's unpredictability,you know it's getting it's chosen ones ready " the announcer said, voice brittle beneath forced cheer. "And anyway… the Family Heads are watching. If something goes wrong, they'll step in. Right?"
He let out a laugh—too sharp, too high.
It didn't carry confidence.
It cracked.
Readings flared—Resonance Overload, Aether Spike, Mental Interference Detected.
"Of course," the host stammered, "should anything escalate, the protocol is airtight. We'll be deploying a retrieval unit—standard reinforcements—to, ah, extract any injured players and neutralize the threat."
From the corners of the broadcast room, red sigils began to pulse.
Someone off-screen was shouting.
"Activate Interference Containment Protocol. Get the Valkyries prepped. Now."
The audience couldn't see it—but behind the screens, chaos bloomed like rot.
Above the arena, the silver glyph-seals on the dome began to flicker. For the first time in years, the Nexus shield wavered.
And then came the moment that shattered the illusion.
Then something hit the arena floor.
Not a contestant.
Not gear.
A creature.
Then another.
Then another.